


Fool's Gold

by KatnapKradle



Series: Like Clockwork [1]
Category: Servamp (Anime & Manga)
Genre: Beauty and the Beast AU, Canonical Character Death, Multi, Story within a Story, ask to tag, canon typical dark themes ahead, fairytale AU, first time writing a multichap with an actual plotline so let's see how this pans out, i have no idea how to tag this so i guess i'll just tag as I go?, sorry ophelia
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-05
Updated: 2021-02-09
Packaged: 2021-03-16 19:40:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29212812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KatnapKradle/pseuds/KatnapKradle
Summary: Every single day, for as long as he could remember, Licht could hear the sound of a lonely piano drifting out over the castle’s stone garden walls.It sounded dreadful.
Relationships: Gear & Tsumugi Youtarou, Hyde | Lawless/Licht Jekylland Todoroki, Hyde | Lawless/Ophelia
Series: Like Clockwork [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2144811
Comments: 2
Kudos: 13





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah, so, uh. Hi again? This idea took hold in my brain and would not. Let. Go. Special thanks to my friends Moon, Puff, Fibi, and Thunder for always encouraging me!!

“Once upon a time, a long, long time ago, there lived a brave knight and a beautiful, kind princess…”

Youtarou Tsumugi, age five, sat enraptured in the clockmaker’s lap, a large picture book positioned squarely in front of him. Tales of knights, heroes, monsters, and princesses, fairy tales featuring quick witted protagonists and happy endings or lessons learned… He loved them all, of course, but he loved it even more when he managed to pester his friend into reading them aloud to him. There was something mystical about Gear’s voice. It wasn’t as if the elder put much emotion into his words, or made silly voices for the different characters, or anything his grandmother ever did for him just before bedtime. And yet, it had him no less spellbound. Sometimes it even felt as if the characters were about to leap off the page, with bodies made of pages and blood made from ink.

If it were Gear, he honestly felt it was possible.

Speaking of, the man who had previously had his head hooked over his shoulder sighed, and closed the fairy tale with a resounding clap.

“Wh-? _Gear!_ You _promised!_ ”

“And I intend to carry it out, if you would just be quiet for half a moment.”

Unceremoniously he was picked up and plopped onto the beanbag next to Gear’s armchair, one that he knew his friend had drug inside the old, dim workshop just for him, despite any claims otherwise. He let out a small _oof_ upon impact, quickly scrambling to peer over the arm and watch the dark haired man replace the book Youtarou had eagerly brought over to him back in its rightful place among the bookshelves.

“You know, for a grownup, you have a lot of fairy tales…” he mused, cheek smooshing against one sweater clad arm. He wrinkled his nose, pulling away to scratch at his face when the knit wear proved to be a bit too itchy for youthful cheeks.

“Do you find that strange?” Gear hummed, trailing his fingers along the spines of the large tomes lining his shelves, making a small sound of triumph when he found the one he was looking for.

“I didn’t say that!”

“That’s my line, you little brat.”

Youtarou giggled, scurrying back up into the man's lap nearly as soon as he had sat down. “So? What gives? Why’d you pick a different book?”

Another hum, the golden eyed man taking a long drink from his mug of hot cocoa that never seemed to run dry or stop giving off steam. “You’ve read that one before, haven’t you?”

“So?”

“So wouldn’t you rather learn what happens next?”

If only he could take a perfect snapshot of the comical wide eyed look the little boy was giving him.

Settling in for a long afternoon of reading, Gear showed off the shiny, embossed cover of blue and black and white and indigo, allowing his young ward to trace the swirling, golden letters on the cover with rapt attention. “F… oa… Fool… Fool? Fool’s! And this word is… Gold?”

An affirmative nod, giving the silver hair in front of him a quick, proud ruffle. “Yes, you got it. Good job.”

“There’s a piano on the front. So this is the next part? Are we gonna find out what happens to the knight?!”

This time, the hand atop his head was to stop Youtarou’s excited bouncing, Gear giving him a glare that entirely lacked heat when faced with the child’s starry-eyed expression.

Relishing in the way the spine cracked when he opened to the very first page for the very first time, Gear allowed a smirk to twist his lips, Youtarou quickly grabbing an animal shaped cookie off its plate on the small side table next to the large, overstuffed armchair, as well as his own mug of seemingly never ending drink.

“You’ll just have to wait and see, won’t you?”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Every single day, for as long as he could remember, Licht could hear the sound of a lonely piano drifting out over the castle’s stone garden walls. No matter the day, nor the weather, like clockwork, each afternoon he found himself passing by those high, high stone walls, the ones covered in honeysuckle vines that bloomed with white and yellow flowers during summer and spread their heady, almost cloying scent far and wide if only because of how numerous they were, just to hear the notes floating out from somewhere deeper inside, somewhere that he couldn’t see and hadn’t particularly cared enough to search to find.

It sounded dreadful. Not because it was particularly _bad_ playing, but there was something… _Hollow_ to it. Something lacking that, as a pianist himself, he just couldn’t forgive.

Over a decade, and not once had he heard anything resembling a soul to be had in those notes. Over a decade, and nary a sight of the phantasmal beast said to haunt the old, abandoned estate. 

Perhaps the godawful noise had driven it away.

The thought made him snort inelegantly. As if. A beast as awful as that would no doubt enjoy such wretched music, though he hesitated to call it that. He understood there were all kinds of sounds to be found in the works of composers and musicians, each imparting their own special quality to every piece given life. But this… This awful sound that grated his nerves, yet seemed to always draw him back at the same time each day…

It could only be made by a demon.

Pinch, pull, pluck. Pinch, pull, pluck. Over and over again, until he had a basket full of blossoms, a smile twitching at his lips at the sight. The thought of the sweet and slightly grassy tea he would be able to make from boiling his spoils lit a sparkle in ultramarine eyes, and it was almost enough to forget his annoyance at… He froze, eyes widening ever so slightly as it dawned on him that, at some point during his musings, the music had come to a halt. He swallowed, feeling the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. It wasn’t as if he were afraid, it was just… Unsettling. To the extreme, even. To suddenly be surrounded by silence. 

A deep breath, focusing on the unimpeded sounds of the dark woods around him, the tall trees with their green summer leaves and the chittering of woodland creatures, the buzzing of the honeybees there to collect themselves a sweet treat just as surely as he was. It was fine. He was being paranoid. It didn’t mean a thing at all that the music that had to be created by a monster’s hands if only for the soulless quality it possessed had stopped, despite never having stopped in his presence before. Obviously his angelic aura had scared it back into hiding. Obviously it had just been too stupid to notice his holy presence until now.

Obviously, obviously… Yet no matter how much he repeated the mantra of explanations and rationalizations, _something_ left him uneasy, unsettled down to his core.

Gripping the handle of the basket of fresh honeysuckle blossoms more securely, he quickly covered it up with a checkered cloth from his mother’s kitchen, taking a moment to get it situated to his liking. The summer sun hung high in the sky and the sweat making his clothes cling to him would no doubt attract insects he wasn’t quite so fond of, as opposed to the miss honey bees going about their daily work and droning softly near his ear. A dip in the creek that ran near his home sounded wonderful, if only for the cold water to shock this growing sense of dread right out of him.

Just as he turned to leave, a few more notes trickled forth from within the supposedly cursed grounds, just as hollow and without feeling as before. His brow knitted, more perplexed than anything by the bastardized song he was hearing. Soft, whimsical, sentimental… And so different from anything the mystery musician had played before that he couldn’t help but give voice to his confusion.

“Clair de Lune…?”

A mistake.

Where once had been a deceptively soothing, haunting melody, there now was only the discordant sound of someone _slamming_ their hands upon the keys and Licht _jumped_ , stumbling back despite himself. In retrospect, he didn’t understand why he had clutched the basket of flowers so close instead of catching himself. In retrospect, he should have heeded his mother’s and father’s warnings, the wives tales of the old townsfolk who had warned him when he was younger and hadn’t yet figured out who he had wanted to be. In retrospect, he should have run as soon as the music stopped, should never have opened his mouth.

In retrospect… He never should have tempted the beast for over a decade’s worth of time.

But as a blackness unlike any he had ever seen before surged forth from within the courtyard grounds, surrounding him until everything was obscured by the most absolute inky darkness he had ever experienced in his life and stole the breath from his lungs, he found that retrospect… Didn’t do him much good.

Mere minutes later, in spite of his best efforts… His consciousness faded away to the gentle notes of Claire de Lune.

 _Ah,_ he thought. _So it really was a demon’s work after all._

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The sound of every clock within Gear’s homey little workshop chiming the hour startled both of the room's occupants, Gear’s head snapping up to look at the time. He clicked his tongue, and Youtarou whined, knowing from experience what that noise meant.

“Do I really have to go _already_ …?”

Once again, he was lifted, albeit this time set upon his own two feet on the floor.

“You know the rules. No later than six.” Gear readjusted the boy’s sweater, brushing crumbs off his front and away from the corners of his mouth. “Messy eater, aren’t you?”

“Can I come back tomorrow?”

“Hey. Don’t ignore what I’m saying.”

“ _Please?_ You’re the only one who has these versions, and I _gotta_ know what happens to Mister Licht! Like, where was he in the first book? How long has it been? The monster won’t hurt him, right?!”

An amused puff of laughter, carefully winding the hand knitted scarf Youtarou had forgotten during his last visit around the child’s neck, snug and secure. “So he’s a monster now? Not the-?”

“ _Shh!_ ” Abruptly, two tiny hands silenced him, Youtarou’s face set in a determined expression that belied the levity of the situation. “What if the reader’s not supposed to _know?_ Licht doesn’t know. So why should I?”

“Hm. You raise an interesting point.” Still chuckling to himself, Gear stood, taking the smaller hand in his own and leading Youtarou to a large oaken door, carved with intricate patterns of the sun, the moon, and constellations. Youtarou swore they changed with the seasons. “I suppose it wouldn’t hurt…”

“ _Yes!_ ” The door swung open, and Youtarou closed his eyes, grinning from ear to ear as he gave his strange friend’s hand one last squeeze and stepped through. “See you tomorrow, Ge- _Ouch?!_ ”

Tumbling out gracelessly onto the floor of his grandmother’s home, Youtarou sat up and shook himself then twisted to pout at the pendulum clock that now read only a minute past six on its face. “You don’t have to be so rough, you know! A minute’s not gonna kill me…”

“Youta-chan? What’re you yelling about?”

“Oh, Grandma! Guess what, guess what! I went to visit Gear again today, and he had a _whole different book_ I’d never before on his shelf! He promised to read more of it to me tomorrow!”

“That so~? That man in the clock again, huh? And what’s _this_ book about?”

“It’s about a monster, and a pianist, and this _big_ abandoned castle out in the woods that no one ever enters and leaves alive!”

“ _Ooh_ , sounds _scary_. You know, Youta-chan, with ideas like that, you could be an author one day~”

“Grand _maaa_ …”


	2. All that Glitters is Not

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Funfact: I fell down a thirty minute rabbithole of pear research for this, and then used none of it

“So, why did you choose that story yesterday?”

“Huh?”

It was a new day, and at promptly twelve on the dot, Youtarou had scared the living daylights out of him when the young boy had tumbled through his door with a resounding cheer announcing his arrival.

_You’d think I’d be used to him doing that by now…_

“Why,” Gear repeated, turning to face the child that had readily made himself at home on his designated bean bag right next to the plush armchair, the latest story Gear had been goaded and cajoled into reading halfway pulled from its slot upon his shelf, “did you choose that story yesterday? It’s not a very happy tale.”

Youtarou hummed, nibbling thoughtfully on his afternoon snack. Peanut butter cookies this time. “Mm… Maybe because it’s _not_ happy?”

Gear paused, mulling over the answer as he finished tugging “Fool’s Gold” from its resting place, the end of a bright blue ribbon dangling down from where they had left off amongst the gilded pages. “Do you enjoy being sad, then?”

He received a scoff in return, as if he had just asked something exceedingly stupid. “Of course not! Nobody _likes_ being sad,” Youtarou proclaimed with all the certainty of childhood, though Gear had to wonder about that, given some of the people he had met and how they seemed addicted to their own misery, “But…”

“But?”

“But all those other stories,” Youtarou began, voice picking up volume as he emphatically waved half an eaten cookie in the air, “the knight _always_ saves the princess, and they _always_ get married, and they _always_ live happily ever after! It’s _boring!_ ” he finished, flopping back dramatically onto the forgiving surface of the beanbag and making it puff out around him. Gear lifted a brow, only to be startled halfway to his destination by the silver haired boy popping back up like a particularly hyper whack-a-mole. “But that one was _different_ . The knight didn’t get any of what _he_ wanted, even though the princess got everything _she_ wanted.”

“You,” Gear started, settling down into his chair and quickly being joined by his ever excitable companion, “are a _very_ odd little boy.”

“And you’re a very weird old man!” Youtarou tipped his head back to grin up at him, wrinkling his nose when he was summarily booped right on it, the rare, fond smile on Gear’s face.

“Rude. I don’t look a day over five hundred.”

“You’re over five hundred?!”

“I didn’t say that,” he teased, settling down in a more comfortable position and opening the book to where they had stopped the day before, “I just said I don’t _look_ a day over five hundred. Phrasing is important.”

“Mou, _Gear…_ ”

~*~*~*~*~*~

The first thing Licht noticed upon regaining consciousness was that his head felt like someone had tried to split it open like a melon. The second was that, wherever he was, it was cooler than the weather permitted, and the scratchy sheets beneath his cheek could sorely use a good wash. He wrinkled his nose, groaning as he sat up and clutched his head. The third…

“Ah, good. You’re awake. Was starting to get worried.”

-Was that he wasn’t alone.

Licht whirled, nearly falling off the small bed he had been placed on in his haste and only succeeding in making his aching head spin. The sound of metal clanging against it itself made him grimace, using the sound’s source to finally locate the… Dungeon’s, he supposed, other occupant.

_A suit of armor?_

“Hey now, no need to be hasty. You’ll only hurt yourself like that.” The deep voice he had heard was definitely coming from the armor, which sat, almost casually, even, upon a stool with a little wooden serving cart laden down with a pitcher, food, and dishes to serve it on. If he squinted, he could make out the shape of bread and what _might_ have been a block of aged cheese in the darkness penetrated only by the light of torches placed at regular intervals around the place.

“P… Piss off…” His throat hurt, voice coming out scratchier than he would have liked. “Who are you, and where am I?”

“First, drink this.” A copper cup was pushed at him through the bars, held securely in the jointed fingers of a gauntlet and presumably filled with water. Licht scoffed at it, not budging.

“Not until you answer me. Who. Are. You,” he repeated, carefully enunciating each word as if the man in front of him were some foreign entity just barely capable of understanding him. If suits of armor could look annoyed, this one certainly did, joints creaking as the whole thing sagged with its occupant.

“Do you want the damn water or not?”

“What I want is _answers._ ”

A soft, harsh mutter that was almost certainly a swear, his captor turning to place the cup back in its place amongst the meal’s various other accoutrements. “Listen. If I promise to answer your questions, will you drink something? I don’t need that brat boss of mine giving me an earful over a stubborn kid…”

Licht bristled, swinging his legs over the side of the bed that was, now that he took a moment to look, little more than a cot pushed into the corner, and standing fast enough that the room spun. Stalking towards his unflinching captor, his lip curled back into a sneer, baleful glare trained on approximately where he thought the man’s eyes would be. Gripping the bars of his prison, he pushed his forehead up against the cool metal, duly noting that where he had expected rust he instead found smooth, well cared for material. That would make things more difficult once he was alone again, but it was nothing he couldn’t overcome, he thought.

“I’m not a kid.”

The helmet tilted, arms folding noisily across the chest plate. “You sure are acting like one.”

“I’m not,” Licht insisted. Adjusting his grip, he shoved his face more insistently at the bars, trying to get a look at the layout of the area beyond his cell. It was fairly large, all things considered, with clean, dry stone that looked like it was well fitted together. Directly across from him was a wall with a torch holder, unlit for the moment, though light sources reflected off the silver armor his captor wore from either side of him. To the left and right of that torch were more cells, equally as bare as his own save for a cot and, if he squinted hard enough, the shape of what might have been more bedding underneath. 

_No doubt moth eaten and covered in rat shit._

Still, the relatively clean space was… Surprising, and up close like this, he found he was indeed correct in assuming the shape he had seen to be cheese. Bread, cheese, some cured meats, and…

The words he had meant to speak died on the tip of his tongue, facial expression going slack in his befuddlement. “What’s that?”

“Hm?” The man turned at the waist, following his line of sight to a yellow skinned pear sitting innocuously amongst the other foodstuffs, the bottom of which appeared to be colored pink to red at uneven intervals. “... Have you never seen a pear before?”

Licht bit down a snappish reply, stomach giving a sudden rumble in protest to him doing anything that might deny him food he hadn’t until then realized he was sorely needing. “Give.”

“Excuse me?”

“Give me. The pear.” When all that met him was silence, he tore his gaze away, leveling it back again at the other man and ignoring the feel of eyes judging him. “What? You wanted me to eat and drink something, right? So hand it over.”

Slowly, as if he were still putting together the pieces of some sort of complex puzzle, the man moved, passing items through the bars to Licht’s awaiting hands. “You’re… A very strange man.”

“I’m an _angel._ ” And with that, he bit into the fruit’s unblemished skin with a resounding, satisfying crunch. It was sweet, tart, just the slightest bit gritty, but not at all unpleasant as the juices ran down his chin, Licht closing his eyes to savor the taste. “Sho. Ansher my queshons.”

“Don’t talk with your mouth full…” was the muttered reply, and feeling eyes boring steadily into him, Licht cracked an eye open, not seeming the least bit sheepish for the halfhearted scolding. “I think it’s pretty obvious where you are, anyway.”

“Hah?”

Shifting to prop his chin in hand, he continued, waving his free round around with a lazy, lackadaisical motion. “Look around. It’s a dungeon-”

“But _where_ , and _why_ , and _who the hell are you?_ ”

“Guildenstern.”

Finally receiving an answer mollified him, somewhat, Licht finally picking up the cup to take a drink and, after giving it a cursory sniff, finding that he quite disliked the metallic taste the copper imbued everything with. Still, it was refreshingly cold against his parched throat, so he couldn’t complain _too_ much, all things considered. “Guildenstern, huh… What’s with the armor?”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“Least comforting thing you could have said.”

A snort, Guildenstern rising to his feet with a grunt and the creaking of nearly every joint in the whole uncomfortable looking mess, in Licht’s opinion. Yet Guildenstern didn’t seem too bothered by what was undoubtedly a getup that only made his life harder. “Wasn’t supposed to be. Behave yourself. Boss’ll want to know that you’re awake.”

Licht rolled his eyes, stuffing a hunk of bread into his mouth next. “Good. Bring him here so I can kick his ass for making me late for dinner. My parents are going to start worrying if I don’t get home soon. Angels don’t make their parents worry.”

For a moment, Guil paused, and Licht got the distinct, infuriating feeling that he was being pitied by those unseen eyes. “... I’m sorry.”

“You’d better be.” Soon left alone with nothing but a quickly depleting meal and his own thoughts as the loud clanking steadily faded away, Licht eyed the door of his cell, slowly chewing in order to better savor the flavor of the fruit while he thought.

Well, he supposed, there was no use in overthinking it. After all, an angel’s power was absolute and he could overcome anything he set his mind to.

Satisfied with his conclusion, Licht stood, wiped the back of his mouth on his grass and dirt stained sleeve, approached the cell’s door… And _kicked_ with all his might. One way or another, he was going to get out. Guildenstern hadn’t been _wrong_ about it being obvious where he was. He knew without a doubt the _where_ , he had an inkling of the _why_ , but he didn’t particularly want to stick around and confirm his theory. Such a nice meal for a prisoner, when provided by a demon, could only mean one thing. He wasn’t about to be the fattened up main course for any monster, and that getting any info out of the man stationed to guard him had been so difficult only further cemented it in his mind.

“Tch.”

The lock held steady. Once more, then. Once more, once more, as many times as it took…

“Stupid piece of… Just-!” _Clang!_ “ _Die-!_ ” _Clang!_ “Already-!”

“ _First_ you steal my flowers, now you try and break my stuff? After I _so graciously_ provided you with food, too. Maaan…”

Licht growled, the new irritating voice prompting him to put even more power into the swing of his leg than he had been. Although the whole door rattled in its frame… It did not give way. He swore, stepping back as a looming shadow approached.

Glittering golden scales and wickedly curved horns, razor sharp fangs and eyes that burned like hellfire, all wrapped up in cloth as dark and decadent as the pitch of night… 

“You sure are a firecracker who just doesn't know when to quit, aren't ya~? Guil says you think you’re an angel. Ha! That’s a riot! So _tell me_ , lil angel…” The dragon leered at him, curling one clawed hand around the bars of his prison while Licht glared back, baring his teeth at the monster before him. “ _What kind of punishment is suitable for thieves~?_ ”

“Go fuck yourself.”

A startled laugh, smoke curling out from behind unsettlingly human lips. “Ohh, I am gonna have fun~ With~ You~”

A demon, through and through.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The hardest part about this chapter: writing from Licht's POV, because he is one of the few Servamp characters I just Do Not have a good grasp on ~~why do I do this to myself~~
> 
> The second hardest part: Not making Guil's introduction sound like a reenactment of the Skyrim opening cutscene

**Author's Note:**

> You can find more of my content on my tumblr! @katzkinder
> 
> I like to yell about meta and make headcanons, and sometimes you can find first drafts of my works there!


End file.
